


if the heavens ever did speak

by Polexia_Aphrodite



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, French Resistance, Missing Scene, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-03
Updated: 2015-05-03
Packaged: 2018-03-28 18:50:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3865819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Polexia_Aphrodite/pseuds/Polexia_Aphrodite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve lands in France, and has a <i>rendez-vous</i> with Agent Carter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	if the heavens ever did speak

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a little something, because I wanted to write French Resistance!Peggy and something from Steve's perspective. It takes place sometime before [this little ficlet](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3477758/chapters/8209093).
> 
> As always, hope you all like it.

Steve sinks lower and lower, the earth coming towards him in a rush, controlled only by the great silk parachute above him. To his right, to his left, he sees Bucky and Dum Dum’s parachutes unfurl, softening their falls, too. 

Below them, he can see the gently rolling hills of the French countryside – a patchwork of farmland, a dark city with a towering, ancient cathedral, a winding river that glows silver in the moonlight. Someday, he thinks, he’ll come here just to see it, to sketch it, in a different decade, when he doesn’t have a shield and a rifle strapped to his back. Everything seems peaceful and still; but he knows that the night isn’t empty, and he braces himself for the possibility of gunfire.

As he gets closer, he scans the darkness for movement, but sees nothing. It isn’t until he’s hit the ground, unhooking his parachute from its harness, that he sees a ragtag group of _maquisards_ moving towards him. At the center of their group, he sees the feminine silhouette of his contact – an undercover operative codenamed _Colette_. She wears heavy boots under her knee-length skirt; a leather _canadienne_ hugs her curves. She moves closer, steps into a beam of moonlight, and it’s _her_. 

She strides towards him, looking brazen and beautiful, flanked by dark haired, wary-eyed men carrying Sten guns. Steve’s heart flutters, his palms sweat, his head spins a little. The things she does to him. 

“Makes for a dramatic entrance, doesn’t it?” Peggy smiles at him and winks, before turning her gaze to Dum Dum and Bucky as they appear behind Steve. “Welcome to France.”

*

She takes him to a safe house – a squat, quaint farmhouse made of stone and stucco. The family who lives there speaks no English, but greets Steve and his team enthusiastically, as if their presence alone will win the war. Their cheeks are kissed, their hands are shaken, they are presented with a feast of roast duck, warm brown bread and sludgy rationed coffee. 

It’s all Steve can do to notice anything besides Peggy. He shudders to think of the danger she’s been in these past few months, carrying messages, organizing weapons transfers for the Resistance – he should have known she’d accept an assignment of her own while he tore through Europe with the Commandos – but she seems utterly at ease here. The low lamplight makes her skin glow. She translates their gratitude, and Steve knows that the French language has never sounded so beautiful as it does when it rolls off Peggy’s tongue.

Later, Dum Dum stretches out in front of their hosts’ fireplace with a gifted bottle of wine, and Bucky disappears with their eldest daughter. Peggy leads him to the room that will be his for the night – a low-ceilinged loft with a rough wood bedframe and a straw mattress.

Peggy closes the door behind them. 

“Did you know it would be me?”

Steve shakes his head, feeling stupid and love-drugged now that he’s alone with her. His skin grows hot. He’s long since shed the jumpsuit he landed in, but the jacket, shirt, pants and boots he wore under it suddenly feel constricting and stuffy.

Peggy steps closer. Her eyes drop to the floor. He could swear she even blushes a little.

“You’ll be off to Agen in the morning,” she says softly and glances up at him. Steve isn’t prepared for it – the heat in her eyes, the proposition she’s not crude enough to state outright.

Steve nods, “Right,” and closes the distance between them. In his arms, she is soft, warm and strong. She kisses him, and it doesn’t matter that they’ve never done this before; they fit together _perfectly_. 

It’s a strange, shuffling sort of dance that gets them closer to the bed (Steve silently cheers himself for keeping his clumsy feet off hers). When Peggy’s legs hit the bed’s frame, he lays her down in one swift movement, with her knees still bent over the edge. He kneels on the hard floor and pushes up her skirt, not minding that she’s still wearing her muddy boots, grateful that she’s forgone stockings. Her thighs are covered with a fine dusting of invisible hair; Steve finds the skin there indescribably soft as he leaves a trail of kisses from the inside of her left knee to the hem of her panties. 

Peggy gasps and writhes, claws at the sheets and strokes her fingernails through his hair as he pulls aside the fabric and pushes his mouth up against her. It’s something Bucky’s told him about, and he knows enough to have wanted this with her for months, now.

She tastes sweet and heady, like home. He glances up, past the bunched fabric of her skirt and sees that she’s watching him with her eyes bright and her cheeks flushed. He holds her gaze for a long moment, then his tongue laps against her and she sighs and drops her head back against the mattress. She pulls her shirt out from her skirt and opens its row of buttons with trembling hands. Peggy reaches down and pulls one of his hands up to her breast, letting him cup and knead and roll her nipple to a hard point. She comes with a shudder, with her legs wrapped tight around his shoulders, with her jaw clamped shut, afraid that anyone else in the house might hear them.

They’re both silent for a long moment. Steve rests his cheek on her leg while she catches her breath, hoping that he’s done well and pressing his palm against the hard bulge in his pants. Steve wonders how long he’ll last, now, and, more importantly, wonders if he had the foresight to bring his army-issued condoms with him from London.

As though she senses his sudden panic, Peggy sits up quickly, looking wild-eyed and disheveled. Her shirt is open, her lips are bitten red, her hair is pulled out of its careful curls – Steve thinks she looks like a brazen love goddess, and spends a quick moment in stupefied awe. Then she pushes his shoulders back until he’s sitting on his heels and clambers into his lap. She moves fast, pulling a paper packet out of her blouse pocket, opening his slacks, pulling out his erection and rolling on a rubber. 

He should have known she’d come prepared, but he reels anyway. There is nothing else in this room, in this house, this country, this world, this universe, other than the woman on his lap, with her slender arms wrapped around his shoulders and her breath hot against the side of his face. Steve feels his body – this great, engineered marvel that has never, until now, felt like _his_ – quake and lose control. His hips buck up, his hands grip her waist, he catches the collar of her shirt between his teeth to stop himself from crying out. He feels her body clench around his and he comes, gasping and sobbing her name, trying to be quiet and failing.

He’s sure he blacked out. He’s sure he couldn’t have survived that much pleasure and joy. The next thing he hears is Peggy’s voice, telling him to get undressed and come to bed. And, as always, he does as Peggy says.

*

He wakes up alone, sprawled across the narrow, lumpy bed. The room is filled with light. Steve reaches for the wristwatch he discarded on the floor the night before and finds it’s nearly ten in the morning. 

“No bugler here.”

He looks up to see Peggy in his doorway, carrying a tray with slices of toast and cups of the same undrinkable coffee from the night before. Steve sits up, letting the bedsheets pool around his bare waist. Peggy kicks the door closed, crosses the room and sits on the edge of the bed with the tray perched on her lap. She lifts a piece of buttered toast and takes a bite. 

“You make a hell of a _reveille_ , though,” Steve says. She looks poised and clean, but Steve knows that her crisp blouse hides constellations of love bites. 

Peggy swallows and smiles, rolling her eyes a little. Steve grabs her hand and brings it to his mouth, pressing a kiss against the curve of her palm. “I love you,” he says, and cringes. He hasn’t got an ounce of self control when it comes to her. 

Her smile fades; something too serious flashes in her eyes. “Yes,” she says quietly, her fingers tracing his jaw, “My darling.”

“Come back to bed,” Steve murmurs, leaning back onto his elbows and trying to look seductive without feeling ridiculous. It must work, because Peggy licks her lips, then looks away quickly.

“Dugan’s pacing a rut in the floor. You’d better get up and on your way. I’ve arranged for an escort as far as Nérac.”

Steve sighs and drops back against his pillow, reaching for a slice of toast.

“Got any tips for us?” 

She sets the tray aside, stands and smooths her hands over the front of her skirt.

“Avoid the trains. Don’t get yourselves killed. If anyone says anything to you in French, just say,” she thinks for a moment. “ _On va voir_. It’s vague, and if you say it well enough you just might pass.”

He practices a few _on va voir_ s while he dresses, until Peggy finally grants her approval.

“It’ll be too dangerous to travel back and forth, but know that I’ll be here,” she tells him with a wan smile. “Arrange to have notice sent if…if anything should happen. I’ll do the same.”

Steve pulls on his jacket – plain, civilian, French – and cups her face in his hands. “Nothing’s gonna happen.”

Peggy smiles again, and nods, but he can tell she doesn’t believe him. She straightens her back. “Come on then,” she pulls his hand towards the door, “Daylight’s burning.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hang out with me on tumblr: [hardboiledmeggs](http://hardboiledmeggs.tumblr.com) and/or [Historical Agent Carter](http://historicalagentcarter.tumblr.com)


End file.
